


death of a bachelor

by visitinghour



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, M/M, i am ryden trash :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visitinghour/pseuds/visitinghour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that lives, lives forever. Only the shell, the perishable passes away. The spirit is without end. Eternal. Deathless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	death of a bachelor

_**PRELUDE** _

 

Ever since he was a kid, Ryan's always had trouble falling asleep.

His mom always used to call him Jitterbug because when bedtime came around, he would always pretend to fall asleep, wait ten minutes, and then wander around the house. He wouldn't do anything in particular and he wasn't looking for anything, it was almost like sleepwalking. The wooden floorboards of their hundred year old house would always creek (even when he walked on his tippy-toes) and when he heard the shuffling from upstairs of his mom coming down to tell him to go to bed, he ran into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, or to the downstairs bathroom until his parents' bedroom door shut.

It only worked until his dad started sleeping on the couch because the creeks would always wake his dad up and the older Ryan got, the clumsier he got, so he'd bump into things or knock things over and his dad would wake up and yell, "Ryan, go the fuck to sleep!" and his mom would wake up and yell, "George, don't talk to him like that!" and his dad would snort and retaliate, "I'll talk to him however the fuck I want to, Danielle, he's my goddamn son!" and Ryan would run up to his room, unseen, and try to fall asleep while his parents argued.

To avoid conflict, he took to writing instead. He used a flashlight underneath his comforter and he didn't have a journal so he'd always use loose leaf papers he had from school. Anything he could find to scribble words on, Ryan would use. He'd let them fall to the ground, scribbled words on the back of his algebra homework piling up on his floor because he never picked them up. He couldn't stand to read his own words and it seemed unavoidable if he picked up the papers. The flashlight gig didn't last very long because once his mom moved out, his dad stopped caring what time he went to bed so it didn't matter if Ryan left his light on. His dad started drinking heavily so there were very few things that woke him up anymore; Ryan could be as loud as he wanted to.

He slowly started to form poems from his scribbles. Teenage poetry, really, it wasn't anything good. He wasn't really good at rhyming and he didn't use anything fancy like iambic pentameter or style his poems the way a good poet should. It wasn't poetry as much as it was words on a paper with a good flow. Nothing like the stuff he read. He wanted to write like Chuck Palahniuk, he wanted the words to glide against the paper and hit the ear just right. Instead he wrote words about his dad, words about alcoholism and addiction and the way his heart beat sounds funny sometimes.

When his dad bought him a guitar one Christmas, he started to write music instead. And then he started to turn his poetry into lyrics and it all started to come together. He wasn't the best singer in the world or even  _close,_ but he wasn't the  _worst._ When his best friends started to learn drums and bass, then it all really started to come together. His music wasn't ready or even remotely near ready, so they covered Blink-182 songs. Spencer's mom let them use their garage and Ryan stopped coming home as much, except at night to "sleep," even though he spent nights curled up in his bed with the journal he'd bought himself after his parents finalized the divorce. 

After he graduated high school, he told his dad that he loved him but he couldn't take care of him anymore. He had confidence that this new band -- they were using his music and lyrics -- was going to take off. And when they did, he'd send money and hookers. He even promised to send his dad some booze. And although his dad was reluctant to let Ryan go, he left him with a hug and Ryan rented his own one-bedroom apartment on the other side of town.

It was tiny and empty, just enough for Ryan. He slept on an air mattress and he didn't have a dresser so he piled his clothes up in a heap in his closet. He stole his comforter from his dad's house and he had three lamps and two pillows. He had money for just enough food to sustain him, but he wasn't doing well for himself and neither was the band. Their guitarist kept flopping. He barely showed up to rehearsals and he clearly has other plans for his future than the band. Not to say that they were looking for someone to replace him because they weren't, it just so happened that way. Spencer had a friend who's friend played guitar and supposedly he was really good and Trevor wasn't showing up, so it was fine by Ryan. The kid was good and he was passionate, excited, and dedicated. And of course, talented. He played more instruments than Ryan could name, something that could definitely come in handy. So they kicked Trevor out and Brendon was in, just like that.

It took Brendon at least three weeks to share with the group that he could sing, like, really well. Ryan opted out as lead singer and Brendon took the role with a huge smile on his face like he hadn't been a part of anything in years. Brendon fit into the group better than Trevor ever did. He was funny, charming, innocent, and cute. Ryan's favourite part of it all was that he was a Mormon. He'd never met a devout Mormon before Brendon, and Brendon was _devout._ (At least, his parents were.)

Until his parents kicked him out. Brendon had dropped out of high school to focus on the band -- they were calling themselves Panic! at the Disco -- and his parents refused to accept it. So Brendon ended up on Ryan's doorstep with a sleeping bag, his guitar, and whatever clothes he'd grabbed before he'd arrived. Ryan, of course, let him in with open arms despite the lack of furniture for Brendon to sleep on. 

Brendon said it was fine and he could sleep on the floor, but Ryan knew how uncomfortable that was because he'd done it the first night he moved in. So he let Brendon sleep in his bed with him.

And Ryan slept better than he ever had in his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> i solemnly swear that i will update this  
> until then, good night!


End file.
